Bad Day
by HistoryLights
Summary: A best friend can make even the worst days seem like nothing at all
1. Chapter 1

-1-

John Watson, retired army surgeon of the 5th Northumerland Fusiliers, and flatmate to one Sherlock Holmes; was having a bad day.

Oh sure, one could say that he was just complaining, being a ninny or a whiny prat; but when your alarm clock doesn't go off because your insane flatmate has "borrowed" it without your knowledge for an experiment so you end up an hour late for your shift. Not to mention that when you finally arrive at your desk, only to find that you've left your phone and your wallet someplace other than your left back pocket. And you've banged your knee or elbow or other exposed extremities on every available hard surface... well you tend you find yourself a tad bit testy.

Maybe when he got back home and fell head first into his bed would he even remotely begin to feel guilty about snapping at poor Debra, the secretary out front. And maybe he'd even feel bad about nearly snarling at Sarah, who'd really only been expressing concern for his late arrival. Maybe.

But for now, all he wanted to do was sit quietly at his desk and brood until his next patient darkened his door, squealing about a hang nail or runny nose.

He sat at his desk, his lips pursed and looked around the cluttered but cozy office. Medical journals and dictionaries lined the bookshelves and piles of forms and patient information lay on his desk. Sunlight from the large open widow behind him poured in and bathed the room in a warm glow as a light breeze filtered through and ruffled the dark curtains.

Stupid day, trying to mock him by being so beautiful.

He sat there in silence, fuming in his self pity when a timid knock sounded at his closed door.

"Yes, come in," he grunted moodily.

The door creaked open and Debra peeked through nervously. A flash of guilt ran through him just a bit

"I'm sorry to bother you Dr. Watson," she said. "There's a man in the lobby to see you." She shrugged at his raised eyebrow. "He didn't give a name. Only that you would know who he was and that you should come immediately."

Both eyebrows went up at that.

Debra gave another shrug. "I'll be frank with you Dr.," she said. "He scares me a little bit."

John sighed. So that's who it was. Mycroft just HAD to bug him on a day when he was the last person John wanted to see.

'Oh well,' he thought, getting grudgingly to his feet. "At least it will make an entertaining story for Sherlock when I'm arrested for decking a government official.'

He followed Debra out into the lobby/waiting area. it wasn't that big a space. The surgery wasn't quite that large but it was comfortable, with plush chairs and tables dotted through out. A small play area had been set up in a corner for children waiting to be seen. A telly hummed softly near the entrance. There were no windows here but the room was brightly lit with lamps and a few large florescent lights overhead. John was not surprised in the least to see that it was nearly completely empty. He said nearly because there was one man standing near the check in desk, facing the two of them. But it was not Mycroft Holmes.

Yes, he was tall. Yes, he was lean. Yes, he had extremely intense eyes that seemed to stare into the very depths of your soul and see every secret you've kept buried since you were five. But they were lighter than Mycroft's. His hair too was darker. Curlier and more uncontrollable. And he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His dark coat billowing out from his body. John felt an annoyed sigh bubble in the back of his throat. Did he have to wear that bloody coat? It was bloody August for pete's sake!

"What are you doing here Sherlock?" he asked wearily.

His flatmate grinned at him and didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the woman standing beside him who flinched at his gaze. John groaned internally at his bad luck. He turned to Debra, and said, "Mind hold my patients for the next-" he did a quick mental calculation. "thirty-five minutes?" The secretary squeaked out a rushed reply and hurried to her. All the while she kept a wary eye on the detective who'd invaded her domain.

John gestured for Sherlock to follow him back to his office. At least this way, they'd have a bit more privacy and poor Debra wouldn't feel so intimidated.

Once they reached his office, he all but shoved Sherlock inside and closed the door.

Sherlock gazed around the room with a critical eye, clearly deducing about its previous occupants.

"Any snide deductions from you and I boot you right back out." John said in warning. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

There was silence while the two men looked at one another.

John blinked expectantly at his friend. "So, you came here for a reason...?" he prompted. Sherlock blinked, as if waking from a dream and realizing where he was. It was almost enough to put a smile on the tired doctor's face.

"Oh right." Sherlock said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out. "You left your phone on the table beside your chair this morning. I thought you might want it." John blinked at the offered hand. In it, lay both his phone and his wallet. Any annoyance, John might have felt, bled out like water through a sieve.

"Oh, um cheers." he said, taking the items from his flatemate. Sherlock's eyes brightened and he seemed to perk up just a bit more. He was obviously pleased that he'd made John happy.

They stood in silence once more until Sherlock coughed slightly into his hand. "Well, that's taken care of," he said making his way to the door. "Must be off, I have some intestines to pick up from Molly."

John started at Sherlock's sudden movement. "Oh, um alright then," he said, opening the door. "I'll just see you at home then? Do you want me to see you out?" Sherlock shook his head hurriedly as he bustled out the door and down the hall.

"No need, John. I'm sure I'm capable of finding the entrance myself. It's just here isn't it?" He pointed down the hall that would take him back to the waiting room. John grinned. He could tell that Sherlock was embarrassed to have done something nice but he didn't mention it.

"Yes, that's the way." he said warmly. "Have fun with Molly and try not to frighten Debra on your way out will you?" His friend threw a grin over his shoulder as he walked and John knew that he would do exactly that. He shook his head fondly and went back into his office; the day not feeling quite as horrible as it did before.

**Author's note: Not sure if I'll continue. I've got at least three more planned but we'll see how much of a response this gets before I upload anymore :) Anyway, this is just a little fluff to take my mind off of my own rotten day. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: **This story is going to be in two parts, the first of which is below. It came out much longer than I anticipated so I split it up. The second part should be uploaded sometime this week. Enjoy**

-2-

The case had been an easy one. Maybe a 5 at best. But he'd been desperate for any type of distraction and so had agreed to come down to the crime scene with Lestrade.

In typical fashion, he'd shown up, had words with Donovan ( how the horrid woman still had a job, he didn't know.) Looked at the body and deduced that it must have been the gardener because who else would really have access to those types of tools? And due to the fact that the man in question was attempting to hide in the bushes nearby.

Now, he was at St. Barts. He'd already taken a look and chosen which limbs he'd wanted from the bodies in the morgue and now was on his way up to the labs. He was actually vaguely excited when he stepped into the lift that would take him up the 15 floors when he heard a voice shout, "Hold the door will you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes but held his hand out to stop the doors from sliding shut. To his utter horror and dismay, it was no nurse or doctor that had called out. Rather it was a very disgruntled looking Anderson who stepped inside, clutching a manila folder in his hand. His hair was mussed like a hand had been run through it non-stop and his clothing was skewed.

The forensic specialist opened his mouth to say thank you when he saw who it was who'd helped him. A barely contained groan passed his lips as his eyes clouded over in disbelief.

"What the hell are YOU doing here?!" he snapped.

Sherlock stared coolly at him. "I should ask you the very same question," he said. "I am obviously taking the lift to a floor above this one. You however..." He gave the other man a brief once over and smirked. He backed away from the door to allow him some space as the door closed behind him

"Bad day at the office, Anderson?"

Anderson scowled. "You would know, wouldn't you?" he said. The grip on the folder tightened. "It was your fault anyhow!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and didn't answer. The lift began to go up.

They stood in awkward silence for half a minute before Anderson said absently, "It taking longer to reach the main floor than usual."

Sherlock grinned. "We aren't going to the main floor, Anderson." he said. "I've pushed the button that will take me to the 15 floor of the building where the labs are located. You forgot to press the main floor." He'd have been lying if he'd said that he thoroughly enjoyed the blush that tinted the man's face.

"Your fault obviously!" he muttered. "Fine then I'll just press it now and wait for you to get off." Sherlock didn't answer. He, instead watched as the numbers counted up... 10...11..12...SCREECH...

Sherlock blinked. What the hell?

He looked at the man who was standing with his finger pressed to the star button. He glared.

"What did you do?" he hissed. Anderson looked behind him with wide eyes.

"The lift," he said weakly. "It stopped."

Sherlock rolled his eyes yet again. "Yes, obviously. Why?!"

Anderson shrugged. Sherlock growled in irritation.

"Absolutely brilliant."

~SH~

Sherlock could count on one hand the number of truly bad days that he had had.

He could remember clearly, the day his left had been called out to the front lines, never to come back. The day his mother had been diagnosed with with terminal cancer. The day that Mycroft had first left for Uni, leaving him with his horrid aunt and uncle. He could the day that Mycroft had chosen his work over him. And most recently, he could remember the day he'd had to leave John to hunt down Moriarty's criminal web.

And now today. On a scale of 1 to 10 of bad days; Sherlock would have to categorize this one as an 11. Never would he have a worse day than the one he was currently having.

He was stuck...

between two floors...

In a lift...

With ANDERSON!

Now, getting stuck in a lift by himself would have been horrid. But to had the miserable luck to get stuck in a small metal box with a person who had all the common sense of a retarded poodle? That in itself was enough to make him contemplate a second suicide.

He stood at the back of the compartment, watching as the poodle pounded on the doors and shouted.

"You are doing a splendid job at trying to get us both killed." Sherlock remarked wryly. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it. No signal. Perfect.

Anderson growled and turned from the door. "Well I don't see you doing anything productive, Genius Boy." he snarled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shoved his phone back in the pocket of his coat.

"I'd say I'm being the more productive of the two of us." he snapped. "At least I'm not carrying on like a mad man"

Anderson glared. Sherlock paid no mind he was completely used to by now from the man.

"Think about it," he explained. "We are stuck between floors 12 and 13. Any sudden or erratic movement could very well jolt the lift and send us hurtling to our deaths. And I can tell you from experience, that is not the most fun way to die."

Anderson paled and went completely still. Sherlock huffed.

"I didn't say you had to become a statue, Moron." he said, lowering himself into a sitting position.

"If you want to make yourself useful, you should try calling the emergency line,"

Anderson blinked and looked at the red phone hanging next to him. The lettering above said, in bold letters- EMERGENCY. He swore and lunged for the phone.

The lift gave a dangerous lurch and both men froze. They waited a moment or two before Sherlock gave an irritated sigh.

"That would be what I meant when I said no sudden or erratic movements." he seethed. Anderson swallowed and nodded.

Anderson opened his mouth to say something but it never came out. The overhead lights flickered.

They looked up just as they blinked out, plummeting them into darkness.


End file.
